Are Reviews Helpful? I do reviews most of the time about places I traveled, books I read, even items I’ve bought on Ebay or Amazon. Before I book or buy, I’ll read reviews. I almost never find consistent 5-star reviews when I do I’m somewhat suspicious. The main reason is everyone is different and looks for different things. Amazon might even take down reviews if a book has only five star reviews. It looks like the process of padding. This is where you either exchange reviews, pay for reviews, or coerce your relatives, friends, and co-workers into posting great reviews. On Kitchen Nightmares, Gordon Ramsey shows up at an expensive burger joint, which forced their employees to write glowing reviewing or face unemployment. The owners hoped the reviews would bring in customers, which some did. Sprinkled among the five star reviews were one stars by actual customers complaining of gross incompetence and long waits. The review mix confused potential customers. While there is padding, there are also trolls who never have visited, bought, or even read a book they decided to review. A recent article in Psychology Today revealed that most trolls are little more than sadists and psychopaths who get off on trashing people, businesses, and books. They are like the hobgoblin who lives under the bridge who enjoys causing emotional and possibly financial distress. They often do this under an assumed name. Several years ago via UK Amazon, a female reviewer attacked several textbooks calling them uninformative to patently false, then recommended another book. Outraged authors discovered the woman attacking their books was the wife of author she consistently recommended. Not too surprising, she’d never read even one of the books she denounced. UK recently passed a law that Internet trolls can receive up to two years in prison if a recipient of an attack can prove psychological and financial harm. As the humble consumer, how do you know when a review is fake or at least overblown? Statements that say nothing about the product. “It was wonderful, I loved it, and best book I’ll read all year, are okay statements if accompanied by some actual descriptive text that shows an item/book was actually used. If a person can’t tell you why they disliked an item, even name characters in the book, or list how a hotel misrepresented itself, then I’d be suspicious. Often because they never used the product or read the book, but they’ll include patently false statements. Consider if their reasons are legitimate. My husband’s company recently hosted a conference at a turn of the century hotel. The beautifully restored grand dame of hotel included a mix of period pieces with contemporary furnishings. The reviews were glowing, except for one traveler who complained the hotel was old. Yes, it was, but the short review implied a peeling paint type of establishment, which it wasn’t.

A very popular restaurant had a reviewer complain about dark meat in his chicken and noodles. He gave the restaurant one-star for this atrocity, and then went on to hit every review site possible with his complaint. The fact he littered the Internet with his review made me wonder what his intent was. In the end, facts can be helpful. When traveling to San Diego, I skipped over a hotel when one reviewer mentioned its location next to a strip club made her uncomfortable. She didn’t give it a one-star for this because you can’t pick your neighbors. It helped me to decide not to stay there. It may have encouraged others to pick the establishment. In a review, a person needs to state what is good or bad. Of course, this is an opinion. The funniest truthful review was a woman who downloaded a free BDSM book with some obvious title like Handcuffed by Passion with a naked couple on the front handcuffed together. The review states the book was full of explicit sex scenes, one right after the other, because she read the entire book. While the reader may have been shocked, it was an honest review. Reviews give people power they don’t normally have in everyday life. Some people have over the top reactions to things too. I read reviews where people complain about the price of a book or a character’s name and gave it one star. One reviewer claimed there was a white spot in the kitchen sink and gave the hotel one-star because of this. My favorite is people who download a free book and want their money back. What about paying for a review? Many online companies and individuals offer to do this, but be careful. Most unknown companies lack the reputation to merit any regard. Kirkus Reviews is a legitimate company that reviews 7,000 new titles a year. It even has a division for self- published books too. They put out a review magazines and send it to booksellers and librarians. This is why people want a Kirkus Review is because of its distribution and weight in the field. An average review costs around $500. An author can choose not to have a bad review published, which explains why I only see good reviews by Kirkus. In the end, are reviews that helpful? Not as much as they used to be when done by professionals. This books sucks or this hotel blows doesn’t help me. It may have allowed the author of such a meaningless statement blows off some steam about the product or life itself. Your state of mind goes into your review too. One woman confided in a review of a romance-themed hotel she never liked it before, because she never went with anyone she loved. How is that the hotel’s fault? Many reviews often reflect more about the reviewer than the product. The reviews I regard the highest come from people who know me, and what I like. Word of mouth may still be the most powerful form of review. It is also the reason Goodreads encourages you to recommend books to your friends. Speaking of that, currently reading Waking the Witch by Kelley Armstrong. This paranormal mystery is a fun, fast joyride that rejects the normal stereotypes associated with Pagans and witches. It doesn’t reek of magic; it is magic. Can’t wait to see how the determined Savannah unravels a string of ritualistic killings in a sleepy, small town. This may make you want to read the book or stay far, far way from it realizing it isn't your preferred genre.

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Confessions of a Self-Help Writer

by Benjamin W. DeHavenBLURB: A ghost, a philanthropist, a con man, a devout Catholic, a gigolo, a savior, an heir, a common man, and an addict are just some of the words used to describe Michael Enzo, who some sources credit with ghost-writing more than 108 self-help books on behalf of celebrities, politicians and business leaders. After failing to make what he considered to be a positive impact on society he began to destroy those closest to him including Benjamin DeHaven, the author of this book, and former collaborator. Defrauding an industry for almost 20 years by exploiting people's insecurities and profiting from them, more than likely these friends contributed more to the field of self-help, while profiting from it, than they will ever know. Believing they could only understand people's problems by suffering along with them, they lived on the razor's edge. If you've ever picked up a tell-all biography of a celebrity or a title from the self-help section at the bookstore, certainly you would question the source.This is an inside look at the mind of Michael Enzo and it is the author's hope that people will start helping themselves again after reading it. Discover what turns someone from preaching salvation towards seeking its destruction. You won't believe this could be true.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

A Graduate of Columbia College in Chicago, Benjamin DeHaven keeps his heart in Chicago and his soul in New Orleans. He holds a MBA from Tulane and a film degree from Columbia. Once ejected from a community college for arguing Frost cried out for acceptance in Birches, he has since written screenplays, traded futures in Madrid, and was Editor in Chief of the Nola Shopper Newspaper, a free art newspaper and the 2nd largest monthly paper in the New Orleans, MSA. . He also has a "shout out" in a Jay "Z" Song.

DeHaven, who currently resides in Las Vegas began his writing career with Stone United, a Chicago based Film Company, which works primarily in independent film. As an unknown fiction writer, he feels the best description of himself, is a sarcastic one and is as follows:

Benjamin W. DeHaven was born on a pool table after a Waylon Jennings' concert in 1977. His personal success is outweighed only by his stunning good looks and adherence to unwritten moral guidelines. He has been described as a thinking man's Tucker Max as well as an idiot's Hunter S. Thompson. His goal is to die from an unwavering commitment to be more like Hemingway.

When her father gets involved with evil, high powered Charlie, in order to bail himself out, he hands her over as payment. Charlie now owns every part of her. A fate over the years she has come to loathe, but accept. A chance at a normal life seems unattainable. She will never feel the touch of a man she loves, never be able to exist outside of Charlie's strict confinements.

Lincoln (Link) Davids is sexy and fearless. One touch from him lights her skin on fire. One night she rescues Link from Charlie's evil clutches. Link vows to save her from her prison but she's determined to push him away, knowing that Charlie would delight in ripping him to shreds.

Charlie is becoming more abusive, demanding her submission and threatening her life. With Link's promise of protection, will she finally find the strength to run, or will Charlie's increasing aggression finally cause her to lose more than just her freedom.

Hi! I am Addison Jane! I come from a small country called New Zealand. I have always had a strong love for reading and writing and Missing Link, whilst not the first story I have written, is the first I will be releasing. My favourite genre is romance, specifically MC, rockstar and young adult. I'm a single parent to a beautiful little girl, we live in a quiet little town and I have a small but amazing group of close friends. My other passion in life is working with kids! I work with them part time along with going to school to complete my graduate diploma. I am fortunate enough to have a great support base, whom without them, I would never have stepped out of my comfort zone and pushed myself to share my writing with you all! -AJ

Blurb:The team owner/head coach relationship can be a tenuous one at times. Isabelle Lancourt can testify to just how stressful it can be. Ever since her husband passed away, leaving her his beloved Wildcats, she and Philip Moore have been at loggerheads. When the opportunity to sign a Russian hotshot presents itself, Isabelle leaps at the chance to prove herself as more than just a pretty face. Dealing with hot flashes, salary caps, and trade deadlines she can handle with ease. The aftermath of an ill-advised, but erotically superb, rendezvous in Siberia with the handsomely annoying Coach Moore? That was not in any Wildcats playbook. Can Isabelle and Philip handle the changes life is about to throw at them? Or will combining their personal and professional lives prove to be a misconduct penalty that the league simply cannot overlook?

Buy Links:Secret Cravings StoreAmazonExcerpt “I hate to be termed over-reactionary or whiny bitch,” I opened with. The man crammed into a seat two sizes too small for him mumbled something unintelligible across the thin aisle. “And far be it for me to complain, but I think the left wing is about to fall off.” Within a heartbeat Moore was out of his seat and leaning across me. My nose was burrowed into his shirt pocket. That brisk seafaring scent he wore wrapped its arms around my olfactory to hug my sense of smell tightly. I drew in a deep breath, held it, tasted the tang of cologne and man, then exhaled through my mouth. Philip shifted a bit. “Sorry,” he murmured, his bulk sliding downward a bit, so that his stomach rested on the rickety arm of my mouse-chewed seat. “I think it’s just the bounce of the plane over the turbulence,” he announced after a long, and not unpleasant, moment of his abdomen brushing my breasts. When I made a weak sound of hope in reply, he glanced from the window to me, a small twist of a smile playing on his lips. The impact of our positions hit me like a cinderblock to the head. His mouth was mere inches from mine now. I could see him swallow roughly. His jaw and neck were dark with new whiskers. I wanted to feel the rasp of his stubble on my neck, breasts, and inside my thighs. I wanted. Oh, hell yes, I wanted. The blue of his irises darkened as I studied my reflection in his eyes. Was it desire I saw, or something else profound and powerful? Love and hate share lots of secrets, being such close friends as they are. The plane hit a ball of violent air. My head coach nearly went to his knees in front of me. My fingers dug even deeper into the arms of my seat. Philip gathered himself quickly, wiggling from the space between my knees and the crummy seat in front of me. “Sorry,” he coughed, hurrying back to his own seat. I nodded, neck tight, spine stiff, heart hammering, and thighs twitching. “You remind me of Christine,” he said out of the blue. I managed to make my head creak around to look at him. The man was in control once again. Wish I could be so quick to move from one frightening thing to another. Shit, I was still freaking out about the way my body responded to his. “She didn’t mind flying until we hit turbulence,” he explained, wistfully. “Every time we would run into a rough patch, her eyes would grow bigger.” He paused to find me looking at him. “She had these wide eyes anyway, so she always looked surprised,” he clarified. I nodded, knowing how important talking about our lost ones is. “Anyway, when she would feel the slightest jounce up she would go, eyes as big as basketballs, and into the ladies’ room she would dash. Once, on a flight down to Florida to see our youngest son Drew when he was in college, Christine spent the entire flight in the bathroom.” He chuckled in amusement. The sound was incredibly pleasing. My anxiety lessened a bit. “I used to tease her about the well-known safety features of a ladies’ powder room during a plane crash. Sometimes our fears get the best of us, though. She knew she was just as screwed as everyone else on that plane, but something about that cramped little girls’ room made her feel less vulnerable, I suppose.” “Colton used to say ‘There ain’t no point in fretting about dying. If the good Lord says it’s your time, then it’s your time, darling!” I tossed out in my best Texan accent. Philip laughed uneasily. “That sounds like Colton,” he said, running his palms over his thighs briskly. I wanted to ask him how he had dealt with his wife’s death. I knew she had passed a few years back from cancer, leaving him and their two grown sons to carry on. “He was a good man. He’s sorely missed.”

BLURBAmy awakes to find her husband Mark missing, along with her memories. Her recollections of Mark include a whirlwind courtship and a beach wedding. Amy is determined to uncover what happened to her husband. How could a man who loved her so intensely just walk away?

The police have no interest in finding Mark. They reason he wasn’t ready for marriage and he walked. She wonders if his disappearance could be associated with her work.

Ryan, a close friend and co-worker, assists her in piecing together her missing memories. As the pair work together, they find that Amy’s actual past reveals a scenario that is so horrifying that it forces them on the run, not knowing whom they can trust. Will Amy’s newly recalled memories prove fatal to both her and Ryan?

EXCERPT“I love you,” Mark whispered into her hair as he slipped one long, muscular leg over hers.Amy snuggled closer to him, nuzzling his neck. Ah, she loved this time, right after a rousing lovemaking session when they were both sated and drowsy, drunk on the idea that in a world of mismatched couples, somehow they found each other. Mark’s slight snore alerted her he’d dropped off to sleep. She should get up. There was so much to do before work. Instead, she stayed, breathing in the peace of the moment. Hard to believe she was a bride. Not that she had anything against marriage. She just hadn’t foreseen it happening to her. How could it? All she did was work at Theron under major security scrutiny. The only people she saw were other employees, with the majority being women. The confidentiality clause she’d signed forbade fraternization between employees. The company must have a reason for being so paranoid. Right now, she didn’t care. All she wanted was her husband to awaken.“Honey, do you remember our wedding?” Using her index and middle fingers, she made slow circles across his wide shoulders and around his muscular arm. The barbed wire tattoos encircling his biceps always surprised her, not that they didn’t look good on his tanned skin. They did. No, it was that she never imagined herself as a woman with a big gorgeous husband who could easily be a male stripper or a porn star with his looks. Nope, she never expected to marry. Even if a part of her held out hope, she never expected anyone without a heavier eyeglass prescription than hers.Mark held up one arm, stretched, and twisted it enough to make his bicep pop. He noticed her eyes following the play of his muscles. His deliberate wink made her giggle a little. Geesh, just another sign she was way out of her depth. Truth told she never dated much, period. School, then work consumed her every waking moment.He rolled to his side, facing her, and yawned before answering. “I do remember our wedding since I was there. Plus it was only two weeks ago.”“Yes.” All that was true, but it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. By mentioning the subject, he might tell her how wonderful it was or even describe it in detail. Did she expect him to gush about the meaningfulness of their vows? No way, she’d admit that she had issues bringing their wedding into focus. All she could see was a couple and minister on the beach with the sun setting in the background. With the shadows falling on them, it was hard to tell if the couple was even white, let alone if it was actually them. The sun was setting in the west, which worked since they married in Tahiti. Still, it had the same feeling of looking at a magazine ad for honeymoons.The woman had on a short dress, and the groom was barefoot. That she could tell. They did have a whirlwind romance. Was it possible she was drunk when she married Mark? Was that why she couldn’t remember anything very well? Her hope was, by mentioning the wedding, he might also confess how wildly in love he was with her. It might ease her fears about the two of them being an odd couple.Her Aunt Remy raised her with a healthy self-esteem. Being worthy of her handsome husband wasn’t an issue. It was more a case of like going with like. She’d heard enough comments when a couple showed with one partner being more attractive. When the woman was more beautiful, people assumed the man was rich and powerful. Charitable women might think he was charming and good in bed. Unfortunately, it never worked that way with the women. People seemed genuinely baffled and usually predicted a future break-up. Rather unfair if you asked her. Couldn’t the woman have some great trait? Maybe she was smart, interesting, and a decent conversationalist, even reasonably good looking with a slender build and short blonde hair. Her nose crinkled once she realized she’d just described herself.The curve between his shoulder and neck beckoned her to nuzzle. The simple action reassured that they were actually married and together. Everything happened so fast. A slow roll of her body had Amy looking up at her husband who pinned her to the mattress. “I think I know what my own Dr. Death needs.” He wiggled his eyebrows and leered at her.

REVIEWS5.0 out of 5 starsLove or Deception: When You Can't RememberApril 19, 2014ByThomas BakerTOP 1000 REVIEWERFormat:Kindle Edition Firstly, the cover artwork on this book is eyecatching. It shows full awareness that readers often make buying decisions based on the cover. This book passes that test easily. Next, the book's premise is well articulated, and worth repeating. Premise: "As she searches for her missing husband, Amy uncovers a terrifying secret that could be fatal." (end of quote) Remarkable. Try writing a 250-page novel and then summing it up in one sentence...

In a book where memory loss is an issue, going inside the protagonist's head, first person point of view, is appropriate. It creates an intimacy between reader and character that allows us to know things we otherwise might not be able to understand. For example, Amy indirectly shares problems with self-esteem:

(quote) "She'd heard enough comments when a couple showed with one partner being more attractive. When the woman was more beautiful, people assumed the man was rich and powerful. Charitable women might think he was charming and good in bed. Unfortunately, it never worked that way with the women. People seemed genuinely baffled and usually predicted a future break-up. Rather unfair if you asked her." (end of quote)

For me, the end result of First Person POV is an emotionally engaging story. I care what happens to Amy. I'm pulling for her. I want good things to happen. Find her lost husband. Regain her memory. Overcome the difficulties of the day. Yet as the story progresses towards its resolution, we realize Amy has undergone a transformation. She is no longer the Amy we met on page one. The development of her character has an effect on the ultimate outcome of the story. Finally, if you like the storyline; trying to fight your way out of the darkness of memory loss, find yourself, and solve a mystery, you will enjoy this book. Highly recommended.

I received a complimentary copy of this book in exchange for a fair and unbiased review.

4.0 out of 5 stars

Keeps you guessing!May 27, 2014ByLaurie C. WhiteFormat:Kindle Edition Morgan K. Wyatt has penned an intriguing and suspenseful tale of a woman seeking to reclaim her past. Scientist Amy has hazy memories of a handsome, sexy husband...but where is he? As she searches for the truth with the help of co-worker Ryan, Amy realizes she has been drugged and begins to wonder which memories are real...and which are fantasy. Amy and Ryan also realize that someone does not want Amy to uncover the truth...and is willing to kill them both.

I found myself rooting for Amy as she grows from a confused woman with low self-esteem into a more confident and assured person. A mix of colorful secondary characters, particularly Amy's Aunt Remy and a couple of adorable animals, adds interest as well. The story kept me guessing until the end; Ms. Wyatt skillfully weaves a strong plot. A highly recommended read!

GONE WITH THE WIND was the only book author Margaret Mitchell ever wrote, but its characters are still very much alive.

Who are your favorite characters and can you find a YouTube trailer about them?

Come meet the Carpenter family. They're my neighbors . Maybe they're not your average neighbors, but they keep their grass cut, their house fixed up and the noise down. Sure there may be a car parked in the driveway with a Friend of the Fae bumpersticker. Not as bad as some of the bumperstickers, I've seen.

Nana might be a little more colorful than most grandmother's with her broomstick skirts and jangling bracelets. She's the one you don't want to cross. The rest of the family is soft spoken and well mannered.

They do have a tendency to disappear for days, then reappear again with explanation that they were sick. Can't say that one always fly. Now and then, a whole bunch of people visit at once bringing hot dishes. Must have been someone's birthday.

I would love to get into that house and find out what's going on, but I can't. I haven't been invited. You can though with the first book, Initiation, which tells the Leah's, the youngest daughter's story,

EXCERPTThe smell struck her first. The acrid, smelly odor reminded her of her fourth-grade field trip to a pioneer village. The candle maker had intrigued her by dipping wicks in what she had assumed was wax until the woman explained it was made of animal fat from butchered animals. That’s what it smelled like, along with the campfire aroma of burning wood.In the misty night sky, a clouded crescent moon shed meager light on the surroundings. Turning slowly she examined the primitive thatched hut behind her. In the small front garden, a split log supported by two stumps served as a bench. An oaken bucket sat by a door that flew open. An elderly woman hobbled out, dressed in a black cloak. The woman reminded Leah of her grandmother, but instead of a look of fierce determination, terror pulled her face into an anxious mask. Reaching Leah, she tugged on her clothes, pushing her toward the woods. “Flee, flee, they come. Smell the torches.” The woman pointed to a path winding toward the east.A dim glow was coming from that direction, along with the sounds of voices and snapping branches as dozens of feet marched in their direction. An overwhelming desire to run after the unknown woman came over her. Another part of her wanted to see who was coming down the path. It was only a dream, right? People couldn’t be hurt in a dream, or could they? She struggled to remember what her psychology teacher, Mr. Schaeffer, had said. He’d said either people couldn’t be hurt by their fears or your fears could kill you by bringing on cardiac arrest.A few men came into view, burly men garbed in shapeless garments, with wild hair and ragged beards. Held high the flickering torches illuminated a small circle around them. One held a curved knife, reminiscent of the scythe the Grim Reaper carried. It didn’t bode well. One of the men spotted her, yelled, “Witch!” and charged her way. It was a definite bad sign, causing her to sprint toward the woods in the same direction as the old woman. Sticks, rocks, and briars pierced her feet, reminding her of her shoeless state. At home, she excelled in cross-country, but she had shoes, sunlight, and a feel for the course with no angry villagers behind her. The running men drew closer. Leah stumbled over a tree root, wasting precious time.“Here, over here.” The voice came from overhead. Staring up into the canopy of leaves, she saw a small hand motioning to her. Of course, hide in the trees. Why didn’t she think of that? Grabbing the lowest limb, she pulled herself into the leafy covering. In the dark, she felt for the branches, climbing higher. Eventually she grabbed an ankle or calf, and received a hand up for her trouble, helping her climb higher.Good Goddess, how many people were in this tree? She held her breath as the light and noise came closer. The few men below argued about which way to go, while a woman waded in with her opinion. “Samuel, let the witch get away. Mayhap he uses the witch for his own purposes.”One of the front-runners denied the accusations. “Martha seeks to harm my name, because I did not plight my troth with her.”The argument moved on a little farther away from the tree. Leah exhaled in a whoosh, thanking the stars for the scorned woman and lack of dogs. As if hearing her silent prayer, a long canine bay rent the air.

I decided to write the series because I am fascinated by the idea of time travel. I also found out some good friends of mine were Pagan too. It amazed me I could know them for years and not know this. These two ideas came together to form the Pagan Eyes series.